


All the Old Romance, Retold

by Jmeelee



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2019-05-28 16:52:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15053627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jmeelee/pseuds/Jmeelee
Summary: **REPOST**James Flint was his destiny; this moment was where Silver’s life had always been coming to, since time began. Jack Rackham and Edward Teach had had the right of it. This thing between him and Flint had no end. But time, noblest thief, was hunting them like prey. Like a sea star, his own heart would survive the amputation when it inevitably came. Would Flint’s?





	All the Old Romance, Retold

**Author's Note:**

> This is a backdated repost. This was the first SilverFlint fic I ever wrote! It was originally posted as 3 separate chapters.

**Chapter 1**

In the limbo between wakefulness and sleep, John Silver dreamed of having two legs.

Always alert, he had taken the rare opportunity to lie back in the makeshift hammock the Maroon island inhabitants had erected between two palm trees on the secluded hamlet. Serene cerulean water stretched toward him up the soft sand, a constant soothing splash. The balmy breeze had snaked through his salt-encrusted curls and rocked him gently as his gaze lingered on a brilliant azure sky dabbed with fat white clouds. The calling of gulls as they picked at the drying seaweed at the shore edge, and the wind teasing the fronds above his head soothed Silver, and slowly his eyes slipped shut. As long as he had breath in his body he knew he would be spellbound by the tranquility of the island. This was _her_ place; now his place too.

In his half-dream, Silver stood on the quarterdeck of the _Walrus_ , complete again, bracing both legs against the boards as the hull split the sea. Flint was below him on the main deck, holding the wheel steady, plowing through waters that rose to meet the ship like an ardent lover, the spray of the ocean peppering his freckled skin. The perfection of the moment settled into Silver’s bones.

A queer noise upset the never-ending rush of the waves and ripped him from his dreams. He opened his eyes to find the air shimmering in the heat, and his Captain rising from the water; the sea sliding over him like a second skin, Poseidon made flesh. In his hand he gripped a harpoon with a wriggling fish impaled on the end. Their experience months ago with the shark helped Flint be successful in his current hunting endeavor, but already Silver knew himself to be fruitless in his own fight; overpowering the passions mounting in his chest.

Gone was Flint’s pirate garb- the dark boots, flowing black tunic, belt, leather baldric and patched jacket. Instead he was clad in only his linen breaches. The cloth was sodden and weighed down at the waist, revealing a tantalizing stripe of dark auburn hair, which Flint made no move to hide from John’s sight. He was intent on surveying Silver, spearing him with stormy grey eyes.

Silver felt himself having more in common with the dying fish on Flint’s harpoon than was tolerable, so he broke away from the stare, closing his eyes, but the sun sparks made by the droplets of water streaming down the firm muscle of Flint’s chest branded on his eyelids. An unwelcome feeling welled up inside him. He had promised himself that after his union with Madi, he would forsake all corrupted thoughts of his Captain, but since the night he had buried the Urca gold with Flint and ascertained the story of Flint’s love affair with Thomas Hamilton, those thoughts would not relinquish their hold on his mind.

With Madi and her people back at camp, and the crew of the _Walrus_ docked on the other side of the island, the wide stretch of beach felt secluded and intimate. Flint walked toward him, smooth as a looking glass, until he stood before Silver. Grasping his hand, the Captain helped him rise from his reclined position in the hammock, and bent down to dig Silver’s metal leg from the sand. The fish had perished, Silver noted, finding release from Flint that Silver reckoned he would never know.

Flint leaned against the bark of the palm tree as Silver fastened his prosthetic. He noted the grimace on Silver’s face when he fastened the boot. “You needn’t have followed me all the way down here.” The timber of his voice sent chills through Silver, despite the heat of the mid-day sun.

Silver shrugged toward the fish. “I was hungry.” 

Flint rolled his eyes at the flippancy of his tone. “I am sure your wife could have supplied you with food,” he stated shortly. Flint wasted no time in cutting to the bone. Silver stood carefully, and snatched the harpoon away from Flint with speed despite his disadvantage in height and number of limbs. He hobbled toward the beech wood fire they had assembled before Flint entered the water. Flint easily overtook him in the sand and stole the fish back. “I’ll cook it, thank you. I might not outlive the next meal you prepare.”

“It was one pig,” Silver muttered, but Flint was already bending toward the fire. After the fish was secured over the flame, Flint met Silver’s eyes. It was discomforting how often he consented to Flint’s intimate scrutiny, powerless to look away. It was Silver’s ruination; no cleverness could protect him from the treacherous current dragging them both under.

“What is it that draws you here?” Flint asked, here meaning Madi. “It is the thought of being a King? It’s a hollow title. You will never truly be one of them. You will always be her subordinate. Your wife is the true power here, not you.”

“It’s not that,” Silver replied, defensive. A vision passed before his eyes, of rows of tiny, flea-infested beds. The vision was gone before it registered on his face. “It’s the entire island, really. It’s a home.” This island was a respite from the sea, from piracy. More importantly, Madi’s love was a chrysalis protecting him from the darkness and desire welling up inside him whenever he thought of Flint.

Flint shook his head. “Then you should stay here, if it’s a home you long for.”

“What?” Silver asked, dubiously. Flint stood with the roasted fish, shoving it toward him. Silver took it stupidly, the seared skin scorching the tips of his fingers. He barely noticed.

“Stay, here, on the island. Stay with your wife.” Nothing in Flint’s words felt like a suggestion. They were a command. “Don’t come back aboard the _Walrus_. You’ve told me in the past that you didn’t want the life of a pirate. You don’t like the sea, have no taste for violence. You wanted the gold and to be gone. Here is your chance, to be done with it. To be done with me.” He walked past Silver, toward the tree line.  
“N-No,” Silver sputtered, but Flint did not pause in his departure. Silver scrambled to rush after him, despite his precarious balance in the sand. “I’m your quartermaster,” he yelled at Flint’s back. “I am needed on the ship.” He threw the scalding fish behind him and limped faster.

“A new quartermaster can be elected, and you will have your freedom. Let that suffice.” Flint threw the words over his shoulder, never pausing his retreat.

“They won’t replace me!”

Flint spun abruptly, and Silver did not have time to stop before he crashed into him. He would have lost his balance, except for Flint’s hand snaking out to clasp his elbow. A flutter jerked in his belly at the physical connection. He could not make sense of it, the way his heart spiked into his throat whenever he was in Flint’s presence, or how the Captain scrutinized Silver as if wondering how in hell Silver had seized the secret interests of James Flint’s soul, how Silver had become his soul mate in the darkness. Flint stepped into the hairs-breath of space between them, his hand never leaving Silver’s arm, and Silver stood firm, despite the way his mind was shattering. Madi’s men could be in the tree line, watching. They more than likely were.  


“The crew won’t replace me,” Silver repeated. “ _You_ won’t replace me.”

Silver could not say with whom the act began, but the kiss that followed between them had all the strength of a ferocious wave pounding on the sand. Silver had never experienced a kiss so compromising in his life. The men’s limbs slid tightly into each other like fingers on praying hands. There was no space left between their bodies for the chaotic past that may have existed between the two shipmates, leaving them simply James and John. Flint held him tightly, the Captain’s naked chest pressed against the threadbare cloth of Silver’s striped shirt, boiling the blood in his veins. He panted, incredulous at the sensation and the shock flowing through his body. Had he been more cognizant, Silver may have followed the fleeting sense to pull away that danced across the stage of his mind, but Flint was everywhere in his head, and aching need kept him rooted beneath the man’s calloused hands. Flint deepened the kiss, leaving an intoxicating mixture of salt and a burning like rum haunting the tip of Silver’s tongue. Any thoughts of protest departed him in a gratified sigh, and Flint crushed himself against Silver’s form, overtaking his hesitation.

Flint’s one hand ran down Silver’s back, pressing their hips and lower bodies closer. The other hand sank in his hair, tangling in his curls. The evidence of Flint’s desire dug into his hip, and Silver snaked his ruined leg between Flint’s own and rubbed himself against Flint’s upstanding lust. Flint finally broke the kiss with a wet sound.

Silver had seen a thousand diabolical masks cross his captain’s face, but the one he wore now was naked longing. “Why did you let me kiss you,” Flint exhaled, his blown pupils and gruff tone making Silver quiver.

“I…” He tried to regulate the quaver in his voice, “I didn’t have any other choice. I needed you to know, to acknowledge that you require my place on the _Walrus_ at your side. You can’t leave me behind.”

Flint’s expression darkened, a storm churning the waters of the ocean, but still he tenderly brushed back the curls that were whipping Silver’s cheeks like unruly sails in the breeze. “You always have a choice. I did not want you to have to decide between a life here, and a life at sea with me.”

"Christ, you’re not listening to me. I didn’t say _you_ did not give me a choice.” John took a steadying breath, plucking up the heart to reveal his abominable fancies. “I said I didn’t have another choice. I never do, when it comes to you.”

The noise that emerged from Flint’s throat could only be called a growl, and Silver stretched up to meet him halfway as he dropped his head to devour him in another searing kiss. When Flint trailed his tongue down his neck, Silver knew his captain to be the wickedest man God had ever allowed upon the sea and into his life. He groaned at the pressure mounting between their frenzied bodies. "John," Flint sighed into his ear. Silver shivered again, holding him tightly and reveling in the feel of his smooth, nut-brown skin covered in course sand and salt. It was too much, and he knew it could not continue.

Unaccustomed to self-denial, it took all the resolve he could muster to break away from Flint’s embrace. “Sometimes it feels like I've wanted you since I first laid eyes on you, but I can’t do this, not now. I’ve just promised myself to Madi, to this island." He looked up into Flint’s face, and the man took no pains to hide his disappointment. Silver could read him like print. “I just can’t,” Silver whispered, “no matter how much I want to. I have to try _here_ , just as I will give my all to you on the _Walrus_. While I am your quartermaster there will be no question as to where _our_ partnership, and my loyalty, stands.”

Flint stood silent and imposing, fierce as a commander, as was his custom, but he made no move to touch Silver again. It was both a relief and sorrow. Finally, he nodded. “Then my quartermaster you shall be, John Silver, and nothing more if that’s your desire. Our chances for comfort in this world are very small, and I’ve no wish to impede on your marriage. Just know this. I’ve wondered countless times what wind blew you into my life, and cursed that wind more than once, but it was a good wind indeed. I was blind to it before, but I’ll not deny it any longer.”

Silver’s chest was tight. He longed to reach for Flint, to forget the pact he made with Madi and let the rightness of his dream of him and Flint sailing into Flint’s vision of freedom sweep him away, but he couldn’t. He was Persephone, forever bound between two worlds. Silver would split his time, his love, as evenly as he could but knew, enviably, one would lose. 

**Chapter 2**

Despite his union with Madi, and the growing duties that working with her on the Maroon island entailed, Silver never missed a voyage on the _Walrus_ with Flint, until the time came for Madi to birth their first child. 

The babe had squalled nonstop from the moment he was born. Only after he had been satiated at Madi’s breast did she broach the subject of the child’s name. “Shall we call him John?” she asked, cradling the tiny bundle to her chest. The child’s pig-like snuffles made him laugh. He shook his head. John was not even his true, given name. It seemed a crime to start this child off with the falsehoods that had been his own crutch for so long. 

“What was your father’s name?” he asked. “I never knew him as anything other than Mr. Scott.” 

“Taji,” she whispered, reverence scoring the syllables and inflection. 

John mulled the name over in his mind. “I have an idea,” he said to her. 

His son had been born into the world howling at a harvest moon, which waxed and waned before the lookouts reported to him that the sails of the _Walrus_ were on the horizon. The news of Flint’s impending arrival filled Silver with relief and concern. Night had settled when Flint finally made the trek through the woods and into the hut Silver and Madi shared. The bungalow was largely unchanged from how Madi had originally constructed it before Silver came into her life. Her delicate curtains still floated over the exposed openings, cut wide to allow the wind to cool the interior. There was a simple oak table, given to her by her father, which was surrounded by mismatched seats, and a straw mattress with piles of pillows and coverings. The only addition was the small, homemade bassinet, which made the space seem homely and loved. Pride and embarrassment warred in his chest as Silver tried not to imagine what the domesticity looked like through Flint’s eyes. 

Flint bowed his head respectfully to Madi, who was holding her son close. She looked between Silver and Flint, who had yet to speak, and an expression flashed over her features- that of a child suffering the bitter jealousy of one who was losing a friend to another. Like one defeated, she handed her son to Flint and vacated the hut, disappearing into the darkness beyond the torches hanging outside the door. 

Flint did not acknowledge Madi’s leaving, and instead stood with the boy cradled in his arms, gently rocking him as he moved unhurriedly to sit in the chair beside Silver. The soothing motion was natural, and Silver found himself stunned at the apparent familiarity with which Flint handled a child. Had he been a father himself? Surely he would have mentioned it. Perhaps he had once had nieces and nephews, or -God forbid- the Hamilton’s could have had a child of which Flint never spoke. With uncertainties and speculations speeding around his skull, Silver was convinced that no matter how close he had become to Flint, he would never be brave enough to broach that subject. 

Still embracing the infant in one arm, Flint reached over with the other and placed his hand right above Silver’s knee. Silver’s cock twitched at the contact. They had deprived themselves any unnecessary physical contact since the morning of their passionate embrace on the beach all those months ago, and the simple act felt lustful. “You have a son,” Flint said. There was no jealousy, no anger that Silver could detect in the words, only wonder. 

Bolstered by the dark, Silver took a deep breath and finally spoke. “We have named him Taji, for Madi’s father. For Mr. Scott,” he supplied quickly, in case, like he, Flint had never known Mr. Scott’s given name. Flint nodded his approval, his eyes never leaving the little one’s face. Despite the shadows, Silver could see a smile on Flint’s features unlike any he had ever witnessed before. The smile reached all the way to Flint’s eyes, softening the marble bones of his cheeks and jaw. The next words came out barely more than a whisper. “We are going to call him Thomas.” 

Flint stilled, and John held his breath, praying to God it hadn’t been a mistake to use the name. Perhaps it had been too much, the gesture laying bare the furtive longings of Silver’s heart, his grief at what could never exist between them. After a charged moment, the hand lingering possessively on Silver’s knee gave an assuring squeeze. 

“Thomas,” Flint breathed, lowering his head so that the name, when spoken, rustled the baby’s black curls. The smile had not left his face. “Thomas,” he whispered again. 

Silver feared his own heart might well and truly break. 

**Chapter 3**

He’d been up in the crow’s nest since early light, leather jacket billowing around his calves in the wind. Silver watched him periodically place a telescope to his right eye, then lower it with a scowl. Flint’s behavior was making the crew uneasy, but a few well-timed jokes from their Quartermaster about the men’s forthcoming visits to the fuck-tents diffused the wariness. By the time the ship anchored in the inlet channel that afternoon, the men had worked themselves into such an agitation over Blackbeard’s gathering that they barely noticed Flint’s return to the deck. Silver, however, felt his shoulders slacken with relief when Flint scaled the ropes and landed gracefully next to him on the weathered boards. He had not liked his Captain so far out of reach. 

Flint glowered at the coastline as if it personally offended him. At best guess from his position on the main deck, Silver could see nearly a hundred men already milling about the sand of Ocracoke Island. The _Walrus_ had taken a few days longer to arrive at its destination, stopping first at Portsmouth harbor for provisions; the merrymaking had already been occurring for two nights and the crew were impatient to join the raucous festivities. 

“I like this not,” Flint growled, shadows on his furrowed brow despite the sunlit sky. 

“You’ll not talk them out of it now,” Silver warned, stepping between Flint and the scene on the beach. Over Flint’s shoulder, he watched the men readying the longboats to take them ashore. “We have the high-ground here, and are surrounded by barrier islands.” Silver motioned toward Teach’s ship, the _Adventure_ , secured in the nearby water. “Teach trusts this place; he knows it well. All this fighting is taking its toll. Let the crew have some much-needed distraction." 

The sails snapped quietly against their tethers, and Flint finally dragged his attention from the shoreline and met Silver’s blue-eyed gaze. He raised a hand, fingers outstretched toward Silver’s jacket, but stilled himself before making contact. Flint lowered his hand, fingers now clenched in a fist, knuckles white, and Silver consciously forced himself not to step forward. “What about you? Are you eager for _distraction_?” 

Silver just smiled at him, refusing to take the bait. He cocked his head toward the coastline. “Come on, Captain. We’re first over the side.” 

*** 

The sun was hanging low in the sky by the time they rowed the longboats onto the beach. Already Silver spied what he thought were two dead bodies and a handful of other men drunkenly sprawled face-down on the ground. It was no wonder, as every man he encountered bore enough arms to start a small war, and were swilling rum from pewter cups. The succulent smell of roasting hogs was causing him to salivate. He was more than tired of hardtack and salt beef. 

Edward Teach, his thick beard so black it appeared blue in the sun, sauntered toward them down the sand, three braces of pistols strapped across his chest and a whore on each arm. The women released him so Blackbeard could embrace Flint and welcome the crew, who ogled the breasts spilling from the prostitute’s undone corsets with stark hunger. Teach looped his arm around Flint’s shoulder and led him up the beach, already deep in conversation. Silver observed Flint’s hand hovering over the cutlass hanging at his hip. Though they were amicable now, Flint never overlooked how close he had come to dying by Teach’s hand. 

The men started to mill about, most headed directly toward the nearest whore in sight, and Silver was about to go locate a drink when a familiar voice spoke behind him. “You look like shit, my friend.” He turned to find the black-haired Jack Rackham, Calico Jack, as he was now called for the calico broadcloth jacket he always wore, grinning at him. His wife in all but name, Anne Bonny, stood silent and menacing at his side. “How’s the leg?” 

Silver laughed, embracing Jack and nodding respectfully to Anne, who dipped her wide-brimmed hat to him. “Missing,” he replied, patting the thigh of his maimed limb. 

“Stomp anyone’s face in lately?” 

“I might, if I don’t find a drink in my hand soon.” 

“Well then, let me lead the way Long John Silver. You can apprise me of what you and the Captain have been up to these many months since we last met.” Jack fetched him grog from a barrel and he, Rackham and Bonny sat on gathered logs, talking as they watched a group of men who were not too far in their cups begin building a fire. It was still warm in the sun, but the October night would be cool, and a fire would soon be welcome. 

Silver’s eyes hunted Flint in the crowd. He located him in the middle of a crowd of men, surrounded but standing apart, listening to them converse and sipping his drink, but not joining the discussion. He had parted ways with Blackbeard, and the setting sun was painting the freckles gold on his tanned skin. Silver quickly turned his attention back to the Rackham and Bonny. Jack was watching him avidly observe Flint, a familiar smirk twitching his pencil thin moustache. 

Jack tugged at his neck cloth and uttered a joke in French. Anne sneered and muttered “Fucking idiot,” at her partner, but the insult was delivered with affection. 

Silver flashed his teeth. “I have very little French,” he admitted, “but I am sure the jest was clever.” 

“No French, you say? What a shame. It is such a _romantic_ language.” Anne smacked Jack hard in the chest, and he threw his head back, laughing with abandon. _“C'est une chose qui n'a pas de fin,”_ he delivered with a lewd smile. 

Silver shook his head, brows furrowed. He disliked being the butt of Rackham’s obscure jokes, as they often made sense to no one but himself. “Sorry. My French escapes me. Again, I have no idea what you said.” 

Anne sneered, her red hair hanging in her eyes. “It is a thing that has no end,” she spat at him. 

Silver was taken aback, by both the translation and her decision to speak to him when she was normally a mute threat at her partner’s side. Puzzled, Silver stared curiously at Jack, who was still beaming shrewdly. “I’m afraid I still don’t understand the point you are trying to make, Rackham. _What,_ exactly, has no end?” 

Jack waved at the debauchery surrounding them, but Silver noticed his hand pausing when it gestured toward Flint. “Life,” he said to Silver. He shrugged. “Love.” 

Silver opened his mouth to reply, but a bellowing voice interrupted him. “What a sorrowful bunch! Get off your asses and start fucking, you lazy shits!” 

Edward Teach ambled toward them, and Silver swore he saw Anne crack a small smile, though it was gone in an instant. Jack still wore an amused expression, but it was now tinged with melancholy. He imagined the three of them could not be in each other’s presence without mourning the infamous Captain Charles Vane, whose death at the end of a hangman’s noose had marked the beginning of the war for Nassau they were all fighting. Vane had been like a son to Teach, and Silver could now fathom the breathtaking pain he must have felt upon news of Charles’s demise. 

Blackbeard settled next to Silver and handed him a fresh flagon of rum. Anne turned to Jack, possessively cupping a slender fingered hand over his clothed cock. “I want to fuck,” she demanded. 

Jack turned to the men with a cheeky smile. “Duty calls.” He saluted Silver, mockingly. “See you on the other side.” 

When the duo departed, Silver raised his cup to Teach. 

“To what shall we drink?” Teach inquired. 

“We are toasting you, of course, and this remarkable celebration.” 

Teach roared. “Young man, this isn’t a celebration! This is a funeral.” 

Silver lowered his cup, bewildered. “A funeral! For Charles?” Charles Vane had been dead near on two years; a funeral so long after his death seemed peculiar. Silver had been among pirates long enough to know that death rites usually involved no more than a few hallowed words and a sword tossed into the sea. 

The name sobered Teach. “No, this is not a funeral for Charles. I’ve mourned him in my own way, and buried him long ago. This is a funeral for me.” 

Silver laughed awkwardly. “Either this drink is stronger than I know, or I’ve been struck dumb. I can’t make sense of a damned thing anyone has said since I stepped foot off the _Walrus_. First, Rackham schools me with some Parisian nonsense he likely gathered from a harlot, and now you tell me I’m attending the funeral of a man who is currently very much alive.” 

“They call you Long John Silver now, isn’t that so?” Silver was having trouble keeping up with the shift in conversation. 

“They do,” he answered, cautiously. “Our First Mate, Billy Bones, christened me with the title. I myself would have preferred something less phallic.” 

“You are quickly rising high, and the men will make you Captain one day. Flint knows this to be true. I’m a grand thief, as most pirates are, and I count myself among the best. You will be too, someday. Yet, time is the grandest thief of all, and I feel my golden era growing paper-thin as of late. Funny that as a pirate, death, the most glaring fact of your life, stares you in the face every day and yet we let it slip our minds. I’ve been contemplating time, and the things I did not do.” He appraised Silver in the growing dusk. “You’ve a son now?” 

“Yes, I do.” Silver answered, softly. “Thomas.” The morose conversation was making him miss Thomas’s sweet, gap-toothed smiles. The absence of his son in his arms suddenly pained him like an open wound. 

Teach nodded. “It is good to have a son. I’ve had many wives, but no sons. When my time comes, the world will remember my deeds, of that I am sure, but I will have no one to remember _me_.” 

Teach gestured toward Flint, who was making his way into the woods. Silver itched to follow him, and was surprised to find that the conversation made him mourn Flint as well, miss what he’d never had, or never allowed, with the man. “I told your Captain the same when I spoke to him earlier. Don’t fear death; fear the un-lived life.” 

*** 

After the sun had set and the bonfires were lit, scattered makeshift tents were erected from sailcloth along the length of the shore. The fires burned high and hot, and naked people sang and danced and fucked, their skin having the appearance of old, tanned leather in the flickering firelight. Silver was no prude, but he doubted he had ever seen so much flesh in his entire life. 

He looked around, eyes seeking Flint, but found no trace of him. The last he remembered, the Captain had headed into the copse of oaks in the center of the island. Silver stood rooted to the spot, knowing he should not follow. He conjured an image of little Thomas, toddling around the camp on colt-like legs, reaching up to him with plump arms. When he felt himself step toward the woods, he summoned Madi’s face, soft smile on her lips as she walked among her people. He truly missed her when he was sailing with Flint and the crew; missed the way she loved him, never asking for anything in return. But when he stepped cautiously into the cool darkness of the tree line, the visions of his family faded away like phantoms in the mist. 

He did not want to be like Teach, allowing missed opportunities to define his life. _It is a thing that has no end._ But time was running on without his consent. He had been a man straddling two worlds for far too long. He only had one good leg to stand on. 

It was slow-going in the dark, and near twenty minutes had passed before Silver crashed into a small clearing of oaks, finding Flint standing on the opposite side- facing him, body braced as if prepared to do battle. In the distance, Silver could still hear the ruckus from the beach. The moonlight illuminated Flint’s face, and Silver experienced a rare moment where every thought fled his head, and he stood simply staring at the Captain. When reasoning returned, he fully acknowledged to himself that he had tailed Flint for a single purpose; had been following him these months and years for the same motive. He stepped fully into the clearing, heading straight for his destination. 

“Come no closer,” Flint demanded. Silver did not hesitate, and continued toward him. 

Flint threw his hands out in front of him, palms facing Silver in supplication. "I know you think you want this," Flint beseeched him in a hoarse whisper, "but you don't. You don't want this from me." 

“I do. I want it very badly. I was wrong that day on the beach.” It was so long ago now but they both knew the moment to which Silver was referring. “I am done fighting what I feel.” 

Silver reached Flint in a matter of steps. “We would consume each other,” Flint implored, a last endeavor to halt the inevitable. “I want everything when it comes to you." 

“Then take it,” Silver commanded, and walked purposefully into Flint’s arms. 

One of Flint’s strong hands clutched Silver’s hip while the other burrowed into his curls and held his head firmly in place, tilting his face up into a kiss. It was almost tentative at first, a gentle slide of lips that was nothing like the first and only bruising kiss they had shared on the Maroon Island. The tight grip was ballast keeping Silver’s body upright when Flint’s tongue finally pressed past his lips, wrapping sinfully around his own. 

Flint was making a beautiful tortured sound, as though something were breaking inside him, making Silver lose himself in their slow slide of tongues, in the astonishing heat of Flint’s mouth. The fingers grasping his hair smoothed down over his shoulder and chest, dropping to his hips to join Flint’s other hand and pull them closer, pressing the hard length of Silver’s cock against his Captain’s. Flint moaned into his mouth at the touch and the sound struck lightning in Silver’s veins. Flint broke away to blink at him in astonishment, genuinely seeming to be on the verge of being overwhelmed. Silver had always imagined Flint as the expert navigator into the territory they were exploring together, and it was both satisfying and terrifying to see his astonished expression and know that Flint was as directionless as he. 

"I—" Silver panted, pausing to catch his breath, “I’ve never done this before.” 

"You’ve never been fucked?" Flint asked gruffly 

"No," Silver revealed, his voice barely more than a whisper. “You should know that I have absolutely no idea what I am doing.” 

Flint chuckled, coming back to himself. “Are you suggesting I lead the way?” 

The playful tone made Silver smirk, his usual arrogance returning with haste. “Chart the course.” 

When Flint stepped away from him, Silver felt a moment of alarm, imagining he had ruined everything with his brashness, but a half-smile played on Flint’s lips. He surveyed Silver for an achingly long moment. "Strip," Flint demanded at last. 

Silver’s hands flew to untuck his shirt from his pants and jerked it over his head, tossing it in the leaves that covered the ground of the clearing. Flint added, a laugh in his voice, "Slower, breeches now." Silver paused, remembering his shoe and toeing it off. He unfastened his pants and pushed them down over his thighs. The linen caught on the boot of his mutilated leg, and Flint strode forward, grasping him at the elbow, steadying him as he stepped out of the breeches. When Silver was naked, Flint stepped back and waited, eyes devouring his form. 

“Do you want to remove the boot? Would that make you more comfortable?” 

“Yes, but not now. When we…” Silver motioned to the ground. Flint nodded and moved forward, smoothing his hand down Silver’s torso, his fingers lingering in the scattering of black chest hair before moving to brush his fingers lightly across a taut nipple. He pressed a kiss to John’s shoulder as his hand smoothed down across his taut stomach and over his navel. Silver’s cock jutted out toward Flint. 

“Turn around,” Flint insisted. Silver obliged, letting Flint bend him forward at the waist. All he could think was how he must appear to Flint: eyes dark and wide, wanton curls spilling loose over his shoulders. He did not know what to be more alarmed by: the thought that he probably looked like one of the cheap whores on the beach, or how, like them, he was more than willing to be ravaged. 

Flint stepped forward and pressed his still-clothed erection into the crack of Silver’s arse, stroking his hand worshipfully down Silver’s spine, knob by knob. Silver grunted loudly, prompting Flint to grind his cock into his backside. 

Flint stepped away. Silver looked over his shoulder and his eyes found Flint ripping off his tunic and pushing his own breeches down to his ankles, stepping out of them. In the bright light of the moon, Silver could see the flush on his cheeks had spread to his chest, and his cock stood fully erect. Silver pushed away from the tree trunk and stood upright, turning back around. When his eyes met Flint’s, he slowly smoothed a hand down Flint’s belly and over his hip, his fingertips brushing against the dark auburn hair at the bottom his cock before giving it a firm stroke from base to tip. 

Flint’s mouth fell open at the touch and his eyes fluttered closed. Silver stroked him again, fascinated by the smooth slide of skin. Flint’s cock was heavy and thick in Silver’s hand, and he rotated his wrist instinctively, stroking him like Silver would stroke himself. There was a bead of clear fluid gathered at the slit, and he smeared it with the pad of his thumb. 

"Do you ever think of me?" Silver asked suddenly, imaging Flint pleasuring himself in his cabin aboard the _Walrus_. 

"I think of nothing else," Flint admitted. His eyes were open again, watching Silver with an expression of sheer desire. “Do you think you could handle being on your hands and knees for a time?” 

“Not for very long, unfortunately.” 

“I’ll work fast, then.” Flint helped Silver lower to the ground and position himself with his ravaged leg outstretched. It was awkward and slightly painful. He shifted forward on his good knee, trying to find a more comfortable position when Flint’s hands caught his hips. Suddenly, there was a rasp of beard on his skin and Flint’s tongue flicked at the cleft of his arse, hands moving to pull his cheeks apart. Silver barely breathed as Flint’s tongue worked its way south, getting closer and closer to his hole. All thoughts of discomfort fled his mind as the tongue stroked lightly across his center. He whimpered, exhilarated. 

Flint took his time slowly orbiting his hole, circling ever closer. Just when Silver thought he couldn't bear the pleasure another moment, the tip of Flint’s tongue pressed into him. It probed repeatedly, and he found himself pushing back against it, desperate for it to enter his body. Flint’s thumbs pressed against either side of his arsehole, exposing him further as his tongue pushed in gently, slick with warm spit. Silver’s head fell forward on shaking arms, moaning into the leaves, unable to keep quiet despite their proximity to the beach. Flint reached around and stroked Silver’s cock, intensifying every indecent caress of his tongue. 

Leaves were sticking to the sweat on Silver’s lips. He was gasping for breath when a wet finger pressed into him. Silver was a trembling mass of nerves by the time Flint replaced the single wet finger with two, and grunted as the fingers inside him twisted and pulled out, stretching him open, working him repeatedly. 

“I’m ready, damn it,” Silver cried, when Flint seemed in no hurry to move things along. 

Flint flipped him over onto his back and John reached down to unfasten his false limb. While he worked to remove the peg leg, he had a moment to acknowledge that he should feel something closer to remorse for his betrayal of Madi. He probably would in the morning. But Flint was between his legs, staring down at him, his face filling Silver’s world, and all he felt was a stab of joy sharper than any sword. 

Silver’s arms and legs were shaking badly as the head of Flint’s cock breached his body, and Silver closed his eyes, clenching his jaw against the stretch. He felt every inch of the slow slide of Flint’s full member. After a long, slow push, he realized Flint’s hips were finally flush with his arse. He exhaled, opening his eyes and finding a stunned expression on Flint’s face in the moonlight. 

“I’m not alone,” Flint said, awe filling his voice, fracturing Silver’s heart into a million pieces. 

Silver pushed his hips up and gasped at the sensation of Flint’s cock sliding inside him. Flint closed his eyes and let his head fall back, pulling out in a long slow slide, then pushing in again. On the next withdrawal, he paused, leaving only the head of his cock stretching Silver open, and stroked in shallow thrusts at the most sensitive spot of Silver’s rectum. Flint pressed in deeper and angled his thrust, making the head of his cock brush against a bundle of nerves that had Silver coming undone. 

Silver braced his hands against the ground, his body possessed by need, unwilling to adhere to his mind’s command. "We should have been warming each other’s beds from the start.” 

Flint made a strangled sound and proceeded to plunge into him faster and harder, and Silver could not believe he had denied them this moment for so long. Flint leaned over him, forehead creased in intense concentration, a hand on the thigh of Silver’s ruined leg while pushing Silver’s other knee nearly into his chest. Every thrust stroked Silver’s cock, now trapped between their bodies. 

Flint cried out, his movements becoming erratic, and Silver reached up, wrapping strong arms around him and holding tight while he came in long, shuddering gasps, pushing into Silver as far as he could. A stream of incoherent profanity flowed from his lips. Silver felt the moment he came, all tension departing Flint’s limbs. He fell forward, pressing kisses against Silver’s temple. Silver’s cock was still achingly hard between them. 

After a few ragged breaths, Flint pushed up out of the embrace, pulling out of his arse and shifting himself to his knees between Silver’s thighs. Silver felt the loss keenly. Then, Flint’s hands gripped Silver’s hips and pulled him forward across the ground. He bent down and swallowed his cock. "Fuck!" Silver gasped and arched up into Flint’s mouth, and then panted again when Flint pushed several fingers inside and continued fucking him. 

He reached down and lovingly stroked Flint’s shaved head, and the Captain pulled off, looking up at him with a wet mouth and flushed cheeks. His eyes, dark grey in the moonlight, flicked down past Silver’s balls to where his fingers were working their way inside him. He leaned back down, slowly swirling his tongue around the head and planting open-mouthed kisses down the underside. Just when Silver couldn't bear it any longer, Flint sucked his head fully into his mouth and massaged it gently with his tongue, holding nothing back. It was less than a minute before Silver swore, his hands grasping dirt and leaves from the forest floor as his balls constricted and he was spilling into Flint’s mouth. He was vaguely aware that he was shouting as he came, the sound bouncing off the trees and echoing across the clearing, but he didn't care. He could do nothing but let cascading waves of pleasure wash over him as he felt Flint’s fingers slide wetly out of him. 

Once his breathing had recovered, Silver opened his eyes and spoke before he lost his nerve. "I love you." It was silent for a moment. Flint lay down next to him on the forest floor, wrapping himself tightly around Silver’s bones. “Don’t say that,” he whispered into the shell of Silver’s ear. “If you love me you may not be able to walk away from this when the time comes. And the time will come, John. You know it will.” The arms squeezed him, Flint’s actions inconsistent with his words, always a study in opposites. 

Silver kissed him softly, and Flint sighed, returning the caress. “I know it will,” he replied thickly, “but it had to be said, at least this once.” Flint grasped one of his hands, bringing it to his lips and kissing the pad of his thumb, licking the ragged-edged nail. Silver felt like crying. 

Flint bent his head to Silver’s chest, leaving wet kisses on his skin that quickly cooled in the October night air. They lay wrapped together for a long time, moonlight spilling over their bodies like water, lips sliding together slowly and whispering secrets in the dark, only rising to leave when the world turned a purplish hue and they knew the sun was about to rise. 

They made the slow trek back to the beach, Silver grasping Flint’s shoulder to navigate the terrain in the shadows. There wasn’t a soul awake when they emerged from the trees, and no sound except for the waves pounding the shore. They slowly moved together toward the edge of the water. 

“You're going to notice it for a few days, I’m afraid." Flint seemed almost apologetic when he spoke, noticing that Silver’s limp was more pronounced. “It might feel a bit like I’m still inside you. 

“Good,” Silver countered. “I hope you never leave.” 

Flint pressed his lips together in a sad smile. “Shall we depart today? I am sure you will be eager to return to your family.” Home, to Madi and little Thomas. The remorse he knew he should feel was absent. 

“I’ll return to them, certainly, but there is no rush to set off today. I’ll make my way back, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to take the long way home.” Flint looked at him then, and Silver saw his own reflection in the captain's gaze; sharp and unyielding. Flint had carved him into a different creature, for better or for worse. 

James Flint was his destiny; this moment was where Silver’s life had always been coming to, since time began. Jack Rackham and Edward Teach had had the right of it. This thing between him and Flint had no end. But time, noblest thief, was hunting them like prey. Like a sea star, his own heart would survive the amputation when it inevitably came. Would Flint’s? But in the dawning of that new day, Flint was beside him, sharing the view across land and sea, looking beyond. Standing together in those quiet moments, they could pretend they had all the time in the world.


End file.
